Portrait of a Nile crocodile.

Here is a Christmas poem, once again having been written for Southwell
Minster’s magazine. 

ROOM FOR ONE MORE                                            

‘If all of the world saw the Christmas sky filling
With angels whose wings were silver and shimmering,
Who sang with their voices chiming and ringing,
Until all life on earth heard every last word
Of Jesus new-born,
Think how happy they’d be,’ Chad said, with a smile,
‘But the happiest of all would be the fierce crocodile.’ 

‘Stop right there, Chad,’ Miss McPherson fizzed,
‘That Nativity stable is staying just as it is,
With sweet baby Jesus asleep in His crib;
Mary and Joseph; the shepherds knelt down,
Three Kings all a’twinkle, wearing their crowns.
With a cow and a donkey; lambs sweet as the child,
And nowhere, Chad, nowhere, a fierce crocodile.’

‘Well, that’s not fair!  Why not give him a trial?’
Chad cried, holding up his toy crocodile.
‘Because,’ Sharnia frowned, ‘a crocodile eats
Ears, toes and fingers like packets of sweets.’

Chad was cool.  ‘I agree.  But Jesus,’ he said,
‘Came not just to love the sweet and the kind,
Or wise Kings a’twinkle with sparkling minds.
He came to love everyone, even those we don’t like,
The mean and the vile,
With their cruel sharp teeth and their sharp cruel smile.
That’s how I know He’ll love my crocodile.’

Miss McPherson said, ‘Chad, that is very true.
Jesus loves lambs but He loves crocodiles, too.
And as I look at the Stable floor,
I see quite clearly there is room for one more.’
And Miss  McPherson smiled,
‘There’s plenty of room for a crocodile.’      

                                         © 2012 Gwen Grant

6 thoughts on “ROOM FOR ONE MORE     

  1. The Crocodile
    Lewis Carroll – 1832-1898

    How doth the little crocodile
    Improve his shining tail,
    And pour the waters of the Nile
    On every golden scale!

    How cheerfully he seems to grin,
    How neatly spreads his claws,
    And welcomes little fishes in,
    With gently smiling jaws!

    Liked by 2 people

  2. I remember learning this at school, all of us sat in our little wooden chairs behind our little wooden desks, reciting and reciting and dreading the moment the teacher would choose one of us to say the poem all the way through, without any help! I haven’t thought of it for ages. Nice to see it now.

    Liked by 2 people

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